Down the path she slithered and out of view of Braeside, darting across the coast road, sheltering the baby from the rain. Fire was burning in her head but the water only cooled her brow. ‘I have to be strong for both of us, Bump. We must not stay where there’s danger. I saw them all plotting with her. We have to get away while there’s still time. They think I can’t cope on my own, they want to take you from me, but we shan’t let them. They can’t catch me for a penny cup of teal’

The overgrown path was prickly and squelching with mud, her slippers were sodden and the dressing gown clung to her sweating body. The wind felt exhilarating on her cheeks but whipped at her clothes and the baby was stirring. ‘Walk on, Netta, walk on to the sea. Bump wants to see the beach.’ There would be a rocky outcrop where they could hide to watch the tide racing in towards the fishing harbour. She loved this shore and its tangle of seaweed. So many memories to share together. She was looking for Rae. It was time he came to collect them…

Why was there so much clutter and so many fence posts? Why were they boarding up the beach where the purple shells and cowries lay and all the Gulf Stream flotsam treasures waited for them to explore? ‘We’ll play pirates and coral islands, there’s so much I want you to see.’ Netta smiled as she lifted the baby. Why were the rain and those sheds spoiling the view? KEEP OUT, DANGER. How dare they stop our fun! We want to play sandcastles and fish in the rock pools. I don’t like this place anymore, where am I? thought Netta.

She found a gap in the defences and stepped over on to the tufts and sand dunes. ‘Let’s see if Mother’s here, waiting for us. She’ll know what to do next.’ Netta’s eyes searched the beach but it was deserted now. ‘Oh, I remember, she’s gone on before to another place. Shall we follow her then? It might be best.’

Netta edged forward to the water. It was cold and grey and at her foot lay a dead bird with broken wings, its feathers stiff with oil, body twisted and barnacled, head half-detached. The sea was throwing up its dead so she knelt down to finger the salty creature. There’re so many of them down there: sailors, fishermen, gunners, submariners; so many of them waiting offshore to lure landlubbers into their lonely caves. ‘We won’t let them trawl us in, will we, Bump?’ she cried, clutching him tightly, and began to shiver, backing away from the bird of death. The tide would suck it back in anger and the mermen would throw it back again further down the coast.